In my twenties, New Years Eve was the source of a great deal of anxiety for me. My friends and I used to take weeks to decide which was going to be the best Sydney party to go to. It was a big decision. There were DJs to consider, venue location, proximity to the dayclub location (another big decision) and of course who else was going. It was like I had to be in the right place, with the right people at midnight or the whole year was off to a bad start. I would also feel anxiety about not being with my family. Like midnight was the end of the world or something. By the way, this is actually not the most psycho I am going to sound in this blog post.
This year we didn’t plan anything for New Years. 2016 was tiring. We just wanted wine and a movie. We put the boys down and rented Snowden on demand. I was three quarters through my first glass of wine when I started to feel queasy. And I thought, how much of a lightweight have you become Helen? But then we heard Bennett calling out over the monitor, and what sounded a lot like throwing up. Suddenly it dawned on me that there was a bug in the Thompson house. As the ball dropped on Times Square, I was violently throwing up three quarters of a glass of red wine, plus a million gallons of fluid that I still don’t understand how my body produced.
Strangely, Robbie had managed to drink quite a bit before it was confirmed that I was sick and instead of holding my hair back and reassuring me, he was cracking jokes at my expense. And from 1am to 4am, Bennett and I took turns throwing up in the kids’ bathroom, and I changed his sheets FIVE TIMES while my sweet husband slept like a baby.
Welcome 2017, you suck already.
The next day Robbie looked after the boys while I hurt all over and tried to sleep. The day after that, Robbie and I switched places and he threw up for the afternoon. That night Bennett started throwing up again.
Nothing makes you appreciate regular days like a horrible stomach bug. And I do realize that nobody likes being sick, but I really think I’m worse at it than most people. I get Braxton Hicks style nausea literally the second someone in the house throws up. And then I start crying in fear of the prospect of me throwing up soon. And there it is. The most psycho. I used to pass out just thinking about surgery or needles or blood. And I’m sure there’s some psychological disorder that makes me like this, but the fear of exposure therapy being the best remedy keeps me from finding out.
So 2017 has been rough. Thankfully we’re still in the first week of the year so there’s hope.
So that’s why I’ve been MIA from the blog and Instagram lately. But today I was thinking I never showed you the purple, five legged robot that I made Finn from Santa. He was totally into it. Here are some pics from Christmas Day.
Here’s a little side-by-side of Finn’s drawing and my recreation. Oh yes. Mama’s got mad skillz.